Not As I Know Him
by The Duelist's Heiress
Summary: Part of my "Powers" AU: This isn't my father, but a bizarre facsimile. He wrenches my chin to the right and my cheek touches the wall. "I don't think I can break you..." His lips are right by my ear and the words chill me to my core. "I know I can." He digs in again with his elbow and I hope that he isn't going to dislocate my shoulder. The pain is becoming unbearable.
1. Prologue

**DH AN: ** Okay so I have no idea how to explain this little Plot bunny other than it thwacked me on the head and would not leave me alone. It's not quite as important as a standalone, but will play a part in an upcoming fanfic I'm in the process of writing with my lovely coauthor **Ataahua. **This part as well as at least one more will occur in my alternate timeline. The first chapter will occur within a more canon context. Posting that chapter in conjunction with this one.

**AN 2: **Place in the Timeline: Approximately three weeks before **Healing Presence. **

Please enjoy the Prologue of **Not As I Know Him.**

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**Not As I Know Him: Prologue**

I look out the window at the passing scenery when the phone in the outer pocket of my cloak vibrates. I don't even need to look to see who is calling. "How far are you from your destination, Sharti?"

"Within the half-hour, Sir."

"You have your tools?"

"Yes." I pause. "I'm not so wracked by nerves that I'd forget the things needed." I pull the roll holding an archaeologist's toolkit from my inner pocket; brushes, delicate picks, a handheld flashlight. Tools intended to give the impression that there was no tampering, that the item anyone was after, was still there.

"And you know what you are after?"

"Yes." A ritual knife tracked to a cavern and concealed well enough to necessitate the use of tools.

"And your hands?"

"Steadier than they have ever been."

"So you aren't nervous at all?"

"No more than you would expect… the first time doing anything is a little nerving."

"You have nothing to worry about, Dear One." I close my eyes and can see my father's smile as he pauses for a moment. "I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise." I exhale. "I expect success, is that understood?"

"Understood." The word comes out forced.

"I look forward to seeing the results of your venture." Again he pauses and I can picture the expression. "I just wanted to contact you before you arrived at your destination. I know you won't disappoint me."

"Of course I won't." I can't help a smile as I end the call and the car comes to a halt. It's early in the morning and the sun is just now peeking over the horizon. Harkin has been instructed to stop about two kilometers away from the cavern.

Harkin smiles. "You'll be fine, kid." I nod and exit the car.

I make my path toward that cavern; it's a straight shot. I'm relieved when I finally reach it. Despite the early time, dark clothing and heat don't make a good mix. The cavern is cool and the item I'm after is in an area that requires no change of direction. There's no need for the flashlight. I narrowly avoid tripping but I slam hard against the right wall, shake it off and keep going. I reach the chamber where the knife is kept. The retrieval should take fifteen minutes tops, alternating between the picks and the brushes in an area in the wall close to the floor should yield results. I flick on the flashlight and set it on the floor, set the roll of tools beside it and remove my cloak and fold it twice and set it where my knees will be.

I kneel, take the first pick and start prying at the corner. I breathe and make the movements match them, developing a rhythm to get the bottom loose. Slowly and steadily, I move along the right until the pick vibrates when it hits the original rock of the cavern. Releasing my grip on the tool, I breathe deeply to steady myself again.

I repeat the process going upward and once it reaches the integral rock, I grab a prying tool and proceed to pull the compartment to my left enough to get my hand into the compartment. I feel for the tell-tale shape of a knife, narrow and sturdy. I pull it out and place it across the roll of tools. My glance doesn't drift to my spoils, rather it stays on the pried brick that I have to replace. Pulling a jar of vulcanized rubber cement out of my pants pocket, I set to sealing the edges that I had pried loose. When the stuff dries, the area will look almost like when I found it. I take one of the small paint brushes and dip it into the rubber cement and sweep it across the bottom of the section; the process picks up a small amount of the sand that I tracked in upon arrival. Again, that helps make the façade convincing. I brush two coats of the mix at the bottom and the side.

I pocket the jar after replacing the cap and then wrap the ritual knife in the center of the cushioned roll of tools. I get on my feet, pull my cloak and unfold it to pull it close around me. Stuffing the flashlight and tools into the inner pocket, I fasten the hooks and rise to my full height. I stumble through the path I entered, merely focused on the point of light at the end. I bump into the same spot and halt, fear stopping me cold as I hear the hollow sound of a wooden support beam hitting the floor. Before I can move, the beam across the ceiling falls and slams into my back. It's heavier steel. I'm knocked off balance and hit my head near where the floor and the cavern wall meet, landing on my back. I breathe heavily. I can't move, and I panic as my vision starts to blur and everything fades.

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**DH:** Again, the first chapter is also posted. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter One

**DH AN: **Ok… This is why I affectionately call this my Hallucination Plunny. Enjoy Chapter One.

**AN 2: **Timeline: Canon, Pre-Battle City and before the events of the museum flashback.

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**Chapter One**

My head hurts and my eyelids are heavy. Opening them is a struggle, let alone rising from my position on the floor. I hear his footsteps and the steady cadence fills me with dread. They don't sound right.

"Harkin, get the girl a chair and help her to her feet." I barely process the sentence myself before the order is fulfilled. Harkin grabs me by the waist and plants me firmly on the chair. I'm shaking. My usual address has been forgone and I see only a trace of sympathy in Bryn's eyes.

I'm rooted to my chair as The R.H.'s next command comes. "You're dismissed, Harkin."

Harkin flees from the room as if his life depends on it. I wish I could do the same as The R.H.'s gaze narrows on me. He knows how much I hate this room... How I would never come here alone of my own choice. For the moment, I can tribute my mounting fear to that. Until he starts to circle. The pace is wrong, his posture is wrong, and he hasn't offered a single suggestion. The fact that the look in his eyes is frighteningly predatory sends chills up my spine. His eyes narrow and I wring my hands repeatedly.

"Such emotional control." His voice sounds right enough but it still doesn't quite fit. "How does a female execute that?" I tense and it takes that very emotional control not to prove myself a fool. I feel the hood fall from my head and I shake as he rolls strands of my hair between his forefinger and thumb. The action is foreign to me. This isn't my father, but a bizarre facsimile. This is not the one I've trusted for six years. My hands plunge into my pockets, panicking at their emptiness. "Pockets..." He muses, "what an intriguing concept."

I stare at the tiled floor as his footsteps cease. "You should be scared." I feel his stare and it's not pleasant. "I don't let trespassers merely walk away." I pale when he tilts my chin up roughly. "I see no use for a mute."

That hurts. I've _never_ been talked down to like that. I'm in a catch-22. I don't speak, I wind up somewhere unpleasant. If I do speak... I won't be able to stop my emotions from taking over. "I'm not useless, _Sir_." I accent the address just enough to punctuate the fact that I know exactly who's in control. It should buy me some time to plan my course of action. From what I can see of his face, my observation leaves him baffled. I cringe when he regains his composure sooner than I hoped.

"Deliberate and observant... Perhaps you aren't useless after all. " He sneers as his fingers slide from my chin. I shudder as he pulls my right hand from the safety of my pocket. Every one of my instincts tells me to prevent this but this is also a chance to observe him that I cannot pass up.

His thumb rotates circles on the top of my closed fist while his fingers work to release mine from the constriction. "You could try asking." I immediately regret saying anything when his eyes narrow and for a brief instant, he roughly squeezes my hand.

"Open it." His words come through clenched teeth. I comply; it's not in my best interest to refuse. My hand is now open and rests on his left palm. His right index finger glides across the ridged skin of my palm. He cares for his hands; they're soft and to my mild horror quite warm, almost comforting. He repeats the process then releases my hand. I blanch as he steps behind me. I know that the hands of man are fickle, his hands are no exception.

I only hear his breathing, deep, calm and calculating. My breaths are small and shallow. He's in control of the entire situation and knows it. I inwardly panic at the constant pulse of his breaths. I should know exactly how to deal with this, but it's not that simple. I don't have any protection should something go awry. I have no record of performance that could possibly lessen the blow of a lapse in my judgment. At the very least I have an outdated play book.

Though perhaps I could still make use of those details, I know _nothing_ of his methods... At least that's what I need to tell myself for my best shot at remaining in whatever good graces or toleration he has. Not having him in my line of sight terrifies me. I'm amazed that I can maintain my discipline and not show my anxiety.

His hands land roughly on my shoulders and that's when all of my composure leaves me. Control and authority, both fueled by a deep-seated anger that I don't even want to start dissecting, are the only things I feel in that moment. No comfort, no warmth. Only youth's arrogance and those unsettling differences are there. It fills me with dread.

"You're weak." He spits. "What use could I possibly have for someone who is so easily ruled by their fear?" He suddenly forces me to my feet by removing the chair and sending it skittering to the marble floor that is in desperate need of a polish.

I shake and clench my teeth to keep my tears at bay. This _boy_ doesn't deserve to know how torn apart I am. My eyes narrow on him as he steps back into my line of sight. He speaks again and his tone is so mocking that I start to feel my ire increase with every word. "You're just a girl." He steps toward me. "A small weak, scared, little girl." He stops inches from me, a smirk plastered to his face. "And that's all you will ever be."

If I have any sense whatsoever, it's cowering in a corner the instant after I backhand the stupid smirk off his stupid face and push him against the nearest wall. "I am _not_ weak!" I force the words through my teeth. "And if you think you can break me, you're a fool!" I dig my fingers into his shoulders and stare daggers at him.

The gravity of what I've done slams into me with a sickening twist. There's no opportunity for a slow retreat. The knot settles further into my stomach. Perfect. One of the few times I stand up to The R.H. and it's not even him. There's nowhere I can hide and everything I know about the one I have against the wall screams that he has no mercy. I refuse to show fear.

"The appearance of fear-driven strength… you're truly desperate." His voice is softly certain, commanding his knowledge of the human psyche. "Are you finished?" The calmness of his question fills me with dread.

I grit my teeth as 'I will show no fear' becomes my mental mantra.

I will show no fear. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction.

I will show no fear. I look into his eyes and nod.

"Good."

Before I can even prepare, my back is against the wall. He pins my right shoulder with his left elbow and restrains my left arm with that side's hand. He leans in, weight shifted on his elbow. I'm immobilized and can do nothing except tremble as his gaze narrows and his stronger right hand cups my chin with two fingers and his thumb, after which he squeezes. Fortunately the pressure is not from below my chin, which permits me to speak, at least physically. His breathing is deep but it's anything but calm.

He wrenches my chin to the right and my cheek touches the wall. "I don't think I can break you..." His lips are right by my ear and the words chill me to my core. "I know I can." He digs in again with his elbow and I hope that he isn't going to dislocate my shoulder. The pain is becoming unbearable.

"All it will take is one sound. Submit to your weakness and I'll take the pain away." His tone is lined with false gentleness.

"You want me to submit but not to my weakness..." It's a struggle to speak but at least it keeps my mind off the mounting pain. "You want me to submit to you!"

He laughs. It shakes his shoulders despite that it's muffled. His laughter is cold, calculating and dreadfully rhythmic. It's hollow and husky.

The laughter ceases as he yanks my face ninety degrees from the wall, forcing our eyes to meet. "Perhaps so; perhaps not." The smirk returns. "You're in no position to risk that by attempting to bargain with me." He digs in with his elbow for what I inwardly beg is the last time. "I'll even acknowledge a tear for a submission."

My mind screams a resounding 'no!' But my body... My weak, frail, pathetic body can't take any more of this. I shake as the single tear falls and the hungry cloth covering the arm that restrains me devours it like the paper of a contract absorbing ink.

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**DH: **I think I enjoyed this a bit too much. Thank you guys for reading. I need to tweak the second chapter and then that'll be out soon. Thank you again.


	3. Chapter Two

**DH AN: **This update also is a double, kinda seems to fit better that way. Enjoy **Chapter Two **of **Not As I Know Him.**

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**Chapter Two**

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He removes his weight from his elbow and then withdraws completely with two slow steps back. He's still controlling the circumstances and properly manipulating them into his favor but I don't care. The sweet, sweet relief is all I can think of before the gravity of the situation reasserts itself as pain shoots down my arm. The tears fall in rapid succession as I feebly slide to the floor.

My left hand goes for my right shoulder immediately. "It hurts." The words slice past my teeth and I moan under my breath.

There is the sound of a halt followed by the sound of ten careful steps each one getting louder. Before I can comprehend what's happening, nimble fingers are undoing the clasps at the front of my cloak and I'm again reminded why I _always_ wear a shirt underneath.

"Can you stand?" His inquiry is soft.

"It would be easier if I had a hand." He offers his. I take it with my right one and immediately regret it when my shoulder pain flares.

"Not a good day for you to be right handed is it?" His left arm slinks around my midsection as he pulls me to my feet. "Don't move." He fixes a few of the hooks on my cloak; one near the top, one near the midsection and the third from the bottom. He straightens it and pulls my hood back over my face. "Any attempt to escape will not be tolerated. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir." I wait for a contradiction but to my relief it doesn't come yet. I have to ensure that I effectively toe the line. One crossing is a mistake, twice is a threat. Thrice ... That's a death wish.

An almost genuine smile crosses his lips as both his hands end contact with me. He steps out of the doorway and stops. He looks over his shoulder with a one-eyed glance. I hesitate. It's too familiar, too ripe for a misstep. I'm hesitant, rooted to my place.

Careful footsteps break my focus. He clears his throat. "If you want to lessen that pain in your shoulder, you would be wise to follow me." I exhale. He's not patient and another mistake like that could cost me. I nod and follow him. I pull my cloak tighter around me and keep my head down as we proceed through a chilled hallway. He stops at a door and opens it without hesitation.

I glance in. The room is small, with a table, two chairs and stone countertops and cabinets around three of the room's four walls. It makes me mildly claustrophobic.

"Go on." I scurry in and zero in on the table. Safe, stable; so opposite of how I feel. I swear as I brace myself on the table out of habit. Another swear rips from my lips as I attempt to correct it.

He roughly pulls me upright. "Language like that" I can hear his lips curling in distaste. "is quite unbecoming." He undoes the three clasps again and pulls the garment from my right side first, careful of the area where the sleeve's seam is distinct. He slips it off my left side with ease. "Sit." His voice reverberates throughout the room as he folds my cloak over his arm.

I sit and stare at the wall as he proceeds to hang it on a hook that I can't see... That I won't _let_ myself see. I'm again falling back on my habits. Eyes front. Attention on the task at hand. All second nature. All things that I'll eventually be forced to explain. I need a course of action when that time arrives. I'm bothered that it's not now. I'm vulnerable, stripped of any protection I have. It's the perfect time to further pry my psyche. He is still in control.

He sets the roll of bandages on the table and takes the seat across from me. It's his turn to observe. His eyes scathe over me... Condescending, piercing, absolutely terrifying.

I can't take the silence. Even him belittling me would better than the tension he's creating. "What is it that you want from me?" My voice breaks. Not once have I been so afraid... Watching the proposition unfold again would be better than this.

"It's not a matter of what I want from you..." He leans in with a dominating sneer. "Rather, it is what you _need_ from me."

"And what would that be?" I squeeze my hands into fists.

He stands and lets loose another round of terrifyingly calculated laughter. "Think." He challenges with careful steps matching the pace of his words. "Food, shelter, a place." He halts behind me and brushes my right shoulder with his fingers. I tense, as it's still tender. "And let's not forget care for your injury, my dear." More husky laughter, chilling, terrifying; especially when it's right next to my ear. "You are in no position to bargain." He starts to circle again, this time it's correct, familiar.

The question. "Why aren't you trying to?"

A first suggestion. "Do you want to stay in any good graces I have?"

The second careful circle brings another. "Are you hoping to garner pity from me?"

He stops again next to my ear with his correct suggestion. "Or are you too stubborn to admit that your entire existence from this moment is dependent on my whims and simultaneously terrified to acknowledge it?" He presses on my shoulder. I inhale desperately as I feel the smirk appear on his face, evident in the change in posture.

"Please... Please- no more." I clench my teeth. So much for not being weak. He doesn't even need to force my mind to submit. All he needs is pressure.

The pressure vanishes and he steps to my right with a frightening, almost sincere smile. "As you wish." He grabs the bandages from the table. "Hold your sleeve." I attempt to comply. I'm constricted as is, plus the injury isn't at all visible even if the sleeve isn't interfering.

He hesitates, running a finger across my shoulder. He frowns. "No, no that won't work... At least not if you wish to retain the integral strength of your shirt." He then suddenly drops the bandages into a random drawer with that same frightening expression. "I have a solution."

I don't like the satisfaction that oozes from his voice. "Stay here." Another round of chortling bounces around the room. I'm quickly tiring of his increasingly vexing laughter that I'm certain is at my expense. The door slams shut, leaving me to my thoughts.

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**DH:** Thank you so much for reading. Again, Chapter Three is also posted.


	4. Chapter Three

**DH AN: **Here's Chapter Three. Enjoy.

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**Chapter Three**

I twirl strands of my hair around my fingers as his words keep playing over and over in my mind. _Or are you too stubborn to admit that your entire existence from this moment is dependent on my whims and simultaneously terrified to acknowledge it?_ I stand and inhale sharply; this shoulder will be the death of me. I pace toward my cloak, the garment hanging from a hook near the door.

My fingers immediately rub a soft sleeve. It calms me; it's familiar and soothing. I treat it with delicate care and fight back tears as the image of my father's fingers on the tapestry invades my mind. I flinch when the door opens.

He laughs softly through closed lips. "Your strength is nothing more than a facade." I don't dignify him with a response. He sets the bundle he's had gripped in the crook of his arm onto the table. "Now then, shall we see to your shoulder?" I rub the sleeve for two seconds more and let the fabric fall through my fingers as I step toward him. Carefully. It's not submission. It's necessary for my survival.

He pulls the chair out and I sink into it. After pressing the bundle into my hands, he moves toward the door. "Change into that shirt." He turns the knob. "I will return shortly."

I'm silent as he exits. I shift my gaze to the strangely warm bundle. Setting it back onto the table, I start to unwrap it. The bundle consists of a black tank top, a small steaming loaf of bread and another smaller bundle wrapped in paper and tied with twine. I set the bundle and bread aside and pull off my gray long sleeve t shirt and pull on the black tank top. I'm glad he can't see me smile at its warmth. The cloth is so soft and cozy, almost sleep inducing. If I close my eyes for a moment I'll be just fi-

The door slams shut and any thought of relaxing is snatched away. "I see you found the shirt pleasing." He steps back to the table. "And that the food remains untouched."

He unties the twine on the bundle. The contents are unmistakable. Pomegranate seeds. "What are you trying to convey?" My eyes narrow. "Ambition? Some desire for prosperity?" I can't decide whether to smirk in triumph at the way his brows shoot up in surprise or to grit my teeth in anger. "Or are you alluding to a certain Greek myth to further drive in the fact that I have no choice but trust that you mean no further harm?"

"Not everything has meaning."

"Every single thing you do has meaning!" The words are out before I can reconsider.

"That's not a conclusion easily come across in a short period."

"It's a conclusion that certainly is to a point, true for everyone isn't it?" I attempt to mask my misstep. He doesn't notice or rather chooses not to comment.

"There aren't many who would bring it out in the open either. I could tell you there was no meaning behind these seeds." He picks one up with two fingers and a thumb, rolling it between them. "Yet that's not entirely accurate; for the principle of symbolism is two-fold." He moves the seed to his palm. "The one who views the object offers as much weight on it as well." He pops the seed into his mouth with a small smile. "Your suggestions are quite intellectual."

I can't mask my surprise.

"I can appreciate intelligence." He pulls the bandages from the drawer. "Knowledge and its application offer opportunity for revelation of truisms, and things about oneself, often courtesy of the observations offered by another." He purses his lips as he glances to the pooling bruise where arm and shoulder meet. He paces with those same careful delicate footsteps to stop on my right.

I flinch when he slides the bandages across the table. I shrink against the table as his hand moves toward my injured shoulder. "Relax..." He coos, soft enticing. "I have no intentions of harming you." His touch is light as he proceeds to bandage my shoulder, double wrapping the bruised area. "This should suffice." He smiles with that terrifying almost sincere expression again. His fingers brush against his handiwork as he watches me with discomforting anticipation.

When I don't respond, he again takes his seat across from me. His eyes pan over the still untouched bread. He pulls a portion from the loaf and the steam and aroma wafts through the room. Honeyed bread. He offers the portion to me.

I hesitantly take the offered bread. I pay no heed to the honey that oozes from the bread as its warmth wraps around me. It's warm and soft; I finally bring myself to relax. I exhale. Perhaps my strength is nothing more than a facade.

"You're lost. You have no place...yet." A half-smirk shows. "I can give you that."

I hear the unspoken "if you let me." I exhale again. "What do you want from me?" I stand and show a smirk of my own. "And before you protest, it's now a balance of what I need from you and what you want from me."

"And?" His tone is once more expectant.

"That's your question to answer." He is silent. He stands and faces the wall, retrieving another object from a drawer.

He tosses it onto the table. "Find the flaw." I take my seat and stare at the object in front of me. It's a worn deck box. Flicking the box open with my thumb, I catch the cards in my other hand. This is difficult. I thumb through the cards, finding no inherent flaw. Though, the same attributes and type among the monster cards is definitely a double-edged factor. It works because every card goes into the deck's integral structure. However, if an opponent plays their own cards correctly...the consequences are irreparable.

"This deck is too predictable." I say after a moment. "If your opponent backs you into a type or attribute based corner that is not favorable, you'll have to stay there. It doesn't leave much wiggle roo-" Before I can finish, he plucks the deck from my hands.

"How do you know?" He starts to circle around his own chair. Slow careful. "You possess nothing that would indicate knowledge of that." I would emphatically point to the cloak still hanging on its hook, but my sore shoulder makes me reconsider. That was controlled. I shoo away frightening thoughts of what his unrestrained anger looks like. Gesturing to my cloak like that would also reveal my tendency to allow my emotions free reign on occasion, something that rarely turns out in my favor.

His steps break my focus. His right hand lightly rests on my left shoulder and I see my cloak hanging from his left hand. "Now tell me why you know so much."

I start panicking. I can't do that. It's one thing I am certain of even if I have no clue how I wound up in this situation. At the very least the result would be a mental breakdown for both of us.

"I'm waiting."

I swallow my nerves and speak, the lie rolling so easily off my tongue that I believe it. I have to. "I had a tutor." And yet it's not exactly a lie. However everything that follows must be. My survival and pending subordinate status hang in how well I can execute my lie.

"Had?"

"He's been dead for seven years. I've been wandering everywhere since. My skill is good but no one has been willing to give me a chance to prove it; first because I was a child and now because I am a female." I don't dare look at him.

He exhales through his nose and I wait. "If I give you that chance... What would I receive in return?"

"What do you want?"

"Amuse me." He laughs briefly as I seethe; I've always hated that sentence. "What do you think I want?"

"Unquestionable obedience, unwavering loyalty and perhaps a listening ear." My outdated play book is coming in handy.

"Your name." He offers.

"Arlomhe Khouri" The alias rolls off my tongue smoothly. Again, something like this has to.

"Well, Ms. Khouri... save for your last offering, your suggestions are correct." The name rolls off his tongue with the same amount of ease. "That is what I expect of my... Employ." He places my cloak on my shoulders. "However... I would dismantle my organization piece by piece before I allow a female into my ranks..." He steps to my left and smirks as if to taunt me. "Regardless of how skilled she may be." He steps back to his seat.

I refuse to show how crushed his refusal makes me. A reaction would only increase ire... Mine or his, it doesn't matter. I'd be on the wrong end of either instance. Besides, I know that given free reign with selection of cards... I could cream almost any opponent he could throw at me. That's enough for me to be content. "Then what do you have in mind?" I ask.

"Something behind the scenes." He opens a cabinet and tosses a stack of paper and a pen onto the table.

"You have everything you need for an interrogating interview in here don't you?"

"Write, Ms. Khouri." He orders. "Your name. In print." I do it without question. However I pause before I transcribe; without the pause between the first and last name, I would have scrawled Sharti. He doesn't notice... Or rather, he chooses not to comment. I slide the paper over to him and shrink as his eyes scan over my print. He pushes it back. "Now write it in script." I do so; the loops feel more natural.

Pulling the paper toward himself, he stands. Leaning his head back, his hood falls. His face... Young, confident and to my horror... Completely unreadable. His eyes are the most striking feature. No warmth at all lingers in the lavender pools. He flashes his teeth which contrast heavily against his skin tone. He then purses his lips lightly, as if considering his options.

"This is my offer." He looks over the writing sample a second time. Stepping again towards me, he continues. "Legible penmanship is a dying quality, something that I need for my success." He paces out of my line of sight. "You can provide me that. In exchange, Ms. Khouri, a bed, food and all necessary supplies are yours." He exhales slowly. "In addition, I am certain I can provide advancement opportunities." He grips my upper arms with gentle fingers. His hands are warm, delicate. "Do we have a deal?" His voice holds the same features as his hands. For the first time, I feel safe.

"Are you willing to give that to me in writing, Sir?"

"I underestimated you..." The following laugh is warm and throaty. "You will have your assurance in writing."

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**DH: **Thank you for reading. And I do appreciate the reviews. Hope y'all have a lovely day!


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